Main Event
by Ukiby3000
Summary: Minor AU - details inside. Feelings are confessed and complete silence follows. With that said, what better way to drown your sorrows than to visit a club and try to dance and drink away your frustration? Di Strider's POV and slash.


**Notes:** Nothing belongs to me, everything belongs to Hussie. This fic is AU, in certain senses (like, *lol* Jake not living in complete isolation on an island far away) but it's still IC, so, yeah.

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><p><strong>Main Event<br>**

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><p>Going completely against your original plan, you never confessed in person. Suddenly, the best course of action was to spill the beans through typed words instead of speaking in person. If only dealing with feelings was as easy as fighting killer robots…<p>

And then you said all those things. Poured your heart out like some pitiful school-girl in love. Just the way you said you wouldn't. In the end, all that planning ahead that you made was for nothing.

Then… nothing.

He didn't say anything. Zero. Nada.

Just silently went offline.

You waited a couple of minutes. Then an hour. Then two. Then you waited until the next day. Finally almost a week. Still nothing at all. He didn't even show up online, like he always did, everyday.

It feels like your heart is being twisted, as if pinched by some sort of vice grip that never leaves it alone. You want to cry but… You taught yourself to hide your feelings so well, that it's hard to even do that. You want, but your eyes are as dry as ever. Not even a single drop leaves your eyes. They don't even feel moist.

As much as you predicted this outcome, and told yourself countless times not to take it too seriously, you are torn. Because, clearly, you not only blew that whole confession plan.

He probably doesn't want to have anything to do with you now.

And that's what's hurting you the most. You didn't really expect to lose his friendship completely. You've always thought – hoped? – that he would be far more understanding than that. That he would awkwardly type excuses, say some non-sense about not being into you, and then trying to change the subject in a rather convoluted way. That would be a far better outcome.

You could ask the others about his whereabouts. Jane and Roxy. But you can't bring yourself to do so. Such a thing you'll only serve to make you feel even more pathetic.

So, you decide to do the only thing that can console you, save for fighting robots:

You go out. At night. To a club.

It doesn't really matter which club. You are too drained, emotionally, to care. All you want is music blasting inside your eardrums at deafening levels, crazy and colorful lights blinking in front of your shaded eyes, and the warm, anonymous comfort that only a place like that can give you.

The line is long, but not too much for you to give up and leave. In about forty minutes, you are inside, surrounded by smiles, fog, music and the soft scent of sweat and alcohol.

Moving through the crowd you reach the dance floor. Naturally, it is packed with people jumping around, waving their arms and dancing in the most erratic ways possible. It amuses you, and you certainly need that kind of amusement to take your mind away from everything.

Soon enough, your feet are shuffling around, and your body is moving. You can't really fight the music for too long. It always has the effect to wash away bad things, no matter what. You are pretty damn sure that, as soon as you leave, your thoughts will be back to haunt you in full force, but you couldn't care less. The now is what matters now, more than anything.

Swimming through the ever growing crowd, you reach the bar. Having a drink or two in you might help, especially later on when you reach home to try and get some sleep. If it works for Roxy, might as well work on you.

Unconsciously, you order something with Absinthe in it. Some cocktail that goes by the name Hypnosis. Even under the dim, precarious light of the club, you can see the green tint of the drink in your hand, and you mentally curse yourself. Just when you thought you were actually being able to put your thoughts aside.

You just damn it all to hell and start to down your drink. It's sour and strong, and your body is warming up real fast thanks to it. You'll probably regret drinking it so fast, but you don't really give a shit.

In no time, you are back to the now almost suffocating dance floor.

Your cheeks are flushing and the Green Fairy is doing its job just fine by making you slightly dizzy and numbing your mind as you dance. That's the kind of abandon you were looking for. Slowly but surely, you are emptying your mind from all those unneeded thoughts.

You sweat, and dance, and let your mind drift on the beats, scratches and on the almost hypnotic bassline playing inside your head. There's a certain feeling of utter bliss as you let yourself go like that.

Then, you are at the bar again, people pushing and bumping at you as you try to order another drink.

This time though, you steer clear from the absinthe.

You go for a wine based one called Ruby Dutchess. It's red all over, and you are happy that there's not a single spot of green to be seen.

Instead of gulping it down in one go though, you try to find a less crowded spot inside the club to savor it, and you successfully find a spot near a large glass window, from where you can see the horizon and watch the city lights.

Taking sip after sip, you just look out the window, eyes fixed, staring at nothing in particular. They are just focused forward, at some distant point in the horizon as you try to make your mind drift to complete nothingness. And with each sip of the drink, the task becomes easier and easier.

Halfway through your cocktail, you feel something. A poke on your shoulder. You thought you would be able to pass that night 'flirt free', without some drunken chick or guy desperately trying to get your attention for a quick make out. You aren't in the mood for this. In fact, you haven't been in the mood for this for years now. Just because the outlook of your love life looks grim, doesn't mean you are going to have sloppy makeouts with the first person you see.

With an annoyed look upon your face, you turn on your hells, ready to send this poor bastard to where he or she came from. Can't they see you are grieving? People have no respect.

When you finish turning, you need to make an effort not to drop the glass in your hand.

Your eyes go wide. It's dark and dim, and your shades don't help, but there's no mistaking it.

It's Jake. He's there. He's fucking there. Standing right in front of you.

Your heart skips one, two beats, as your mind draws a complete blank. Suddenly, you can't even remember your damn name. You are just standing there, staring at him, fingers almost shaking as you hold your glass.

He stares back at you. Those glass-framed green eyes pretty much burning into your soul. Fuck, he's even better looking in person.

Your mind stops going blank on you and a wave of questions start to surface. 'How did you know I was here?', 'Why you fucking disappear for a week?', 'Why the hell are you here?' are only a few examples of the things you want to scream at him.

But, just like the tears you couldn't cry earlier that week, words fail to leave your lips. You just stand, lips parted, as if you are about to say something, but it's almost like your body isn't even responding to you.

You are completely paralyzed.

Then, it looks like he's tired of waiting and gives a step forward in your direction. And something unexpected happens.

You step back.

Never in your life had you done such a thing. But there you are, retreating, hesitating, insecure… scared.

Yes. You are frightened. How or why, it's a mystery.

Situations of life and death? They don't even make you flinch.

Facing this stupid glass-wearing nerd in silly shorts? It's the most terrifying thing.

He looks at you in a confused manner. You can't blame him. Even you are kind of at a loss by the way you flinched at the prospect of him getting near you.

There's another step forward, and your body instinctively tries to move back again, but it finds an obstacle: the window you were looking through just a few moment ago. You have no choice but press your back against the glass surface and look at him. He's so damn close to you…

And then he leans forward. And your lips are pressed against each other. No questions asked, no words spoken. He just does that, as if it's nothing. You certainly thought that things would go the other way around. That he would be the embarrassed and shocked one while you would have to go and make the first move. Comes to show how much you know about yourself and the ones around you.

Suddenly, your body decides to properly answer to your orders. It was about fucking time too.

You completely disregard the half full cup in your hand and just let it fall to the floor. You need both your hands free for this. You don't even care that some unfortunate soul will need to clean that mess later.

Every single one of your fingers grip on Jake's pitch black hair and you pull his face closer, deepening the kiss in an almost too desperate way. You don't care you aren't really showing that much control at the moment. Control can go to hell for all you care. You just want to close your eyes and feel your tongue tangled with his, as your shades scrape against his glasses.

A taste of peppermint reaches your taste buds and it really doesn't go along all that well with the mixture of absinthe and wine present in your mouth, but it isn't like you are paying attention to details such as these. You are too busy moving one of your hands away from his hair so then you can pass an arm around his waist and pull him closer. It feels like your whole body is ready to explode at any minute now, due to how hot it is.

Interrupting the kiss in a rather abrupt way, you move your lips to his neck, kissing, sucking and breathing against it as if your life depended on it. You hear a quiet groan from him and your whole body shudder and your nerves tingle. Good thing you are a little bit away from the commotion of the crowd and the blasting music, so you can hear those things.

You don't know when you stopped tasting the skin of his neck or when you stopped pressing his body against yours, but you suddenly find yourself pulling him by the wrist, heading to the bathroom at an accelerated pace. You don't care if you are taking things too fast.

But then, he halts both of you.

The way you turn around and look – no, glare – at him is enough indication of how you certainly didn't want that to happen. He's looking at you with this stern look upon his face and it's clear that he isn't going to move an inch.

'What is this idiot thinking?' you wonder to yourself, the grip you have around his wrist tightening. You just want him so much, but at the same time you are so angry at him that you have to hold back not to punch him on the face and break those stupid glasses of his. Doesn't he know you've been waiting for this for years?

And then, out of the blue, he's the one pulling you. Out of the club. And you let him do it. You have no idea what he's trying to accomplish with that, but you allow him to guide you to wherever he wants to.

The both of you go outside, the cool air of the night almost chilly against your burning skin. Jake tangles his fingers on yours and you two walk, in complete silence, for a few blocks, until you hit a pretty deserted convenience store. All the while, your anger subsides. He looks gorgeous under the streetlights and you realize you can't really stay mad him for too long.

He buys two cold beers and you sit on the sidewalk, side by side, the silence still going on for a while. Until he finally says something. He never discloses how he found you, but he tells you about how nervous he was when you confessed. How confused and almost dazed he felt with all that. To find out you've been locking those feelings up for years on end.

'Why didn't you tell me sooner?' 'Why you kept all that bottled up?' 'Why are you always so stubborn?'… His chain of questions never stop as you gaze upon your bottle of beer and just listen to him. God, he talks so much… But you don't care. It's good to hear his voice. It tells you that he's really there and, more importantly, that he doesn't hate you. In fact, he might care about you the same way you do about him.

"Hey, are you listening?"

You snap out of your mild trance and looks at Jake. His expression a blend of worry, confusion and… is that happiness? He seems happy, or at least that's what you want to see.

And then, it happens. You finally reach your 'breaking point'.

Your eyes, always dry, they start to water. You feel your chest rise and fall somewhat faster than before, your lips trembling slightly.

And then, your arms are wrapped around him, your face is pressed against his shoulder, hands gripping on the back of his jacket and you are crying. You are sobbing and sniveling, the tears rolling down your flushed cheeks and your breathing fogging up your shades. You aren't crying because you are sad though. You pretty damn happy right now. Heck, you can't remember if you ever felt so good.

There's soft patting in your head, his fingers running through your hair. That only serves to make you cry even more. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to hold back those tears. You've been holding back emotions for far too long.

You don't know for how long that goes on, but at some point your crying comes to a stop. His t-shirt is soaking with your tears and, well, you probably look quite unflattering when you finally move away from his shoulder to look at his face, your face wet, your shades almost falling from your nose and giving him a pretty wide open view of your red eyes, your lips parted and still trembling slightly.

Man, do you feel pathetic and weak.

But then he smiles at you and leans forward, his forehead against yours and his hands on your face as he talks away. Tells you that he isn't sure how things will go, how he has never been to a relationship before – and you almost feel like telling him he's stating the obvious, but you keep quiet – how he's still pretty damn nervous.

And he confesses that seeing you break made him somewhat more confident. And the look on your face certainly tells him that you have no idea what he's going on about.

He explains that you are always so much in control that, when you confessed your feelings, he was exceptionally intimidated. Because he wasn't sure if he would be able to be that 'collected'. And seeing you lose it, in some sense, was a relief. He jokingly says that it makes you look more human, because he had doubts about it.

You feel your shoulders relax for the first time that week, and you crack a smile at him. He returns the gesture by giving you a peck in the lips and saying something about making things work out the best way possible. You are listening, but at the same time you aren't. You're guessing you'll have all the time in the word to pay attention to his never-ending babble from now on.

And it's comforting to be sure about that.


End file.
